The Most Excellent Way
by Kairos27
Summary: Aurikku. Auron can't find rest, and Rikku can't find love. As they search through a maze of mix ups, missed opportunities, and meddling aeons, they find that love is the most excellent way home.
1. Party Pooper

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X, X-2, and all related nouns and pronouns appear courtesy of Square-Enix.

-

The Most Excellent Way

by Kairos27

-

**1. Party-Pooper**

For a long time—almost ten years to be exact—I believed that being Sent would be the most appealing things that would ever happen to me; after all, I could not think of anything that could be better. Back then, it almost made me smile to think of it: your tortured, tired soul finally letting go of its prison of stagnant flesh and blood that does not flow anymore, bursting into little blinking lights that rush into the sky, guided by the swirling magic of your master's daughter.

The Sending meant that I could rest in peace. That is what it _should_ have meant, at any rate. Whoever thought of _that_ nonsense, I am sure, has never died before.

Because I am _not_ resting in peace.

I want my money back.

"Ha, ha! What's that you said, Sir Auron?"

Did I say that out loud? I could not have—I _cannot_ have. I'm _dead_; I don't have any more vocal chords.

"But _I_ heard you. Wait—_we_ heard you."

I know that voice. I've heard it before. It's the _boy_. No, no…not Tidus. It is the boy, the fayth of Bahamut. But I can't see him. I was never able to see anything once I entered the Farplane—a burst of pyrefly light with enough brightness to blind me for eternity, and that's all I ever saw. I can't see anything now. And what does he mean by "we"?

"Open your eyes."

No, no…no. "Stop telling me to do something I cannot do."

_Look at me. _

Damn. Not this…not _this_…no, no…

"Open your eyes!" This voice is female, and sounds older than the boy.

_Open your eyes. _

No, Rikku, I will not.

_As I thought. _

The female sighs. "Fine, we'll open them for you!"

Suddenly I feel very, very hot. Before this, I had been, more or less, lukewarm, a shapeless mass floating in a black sea occasionally pierced by black-and-white memories, both vivid and faint. And for the first time since my Sending, I am aware of a faint spot of light. The light gradually grows, until I find myself standing on...nothing.

"I can see," I mutter to myself, as I look up and all around me. Tiny points of light, billions of them, surround me where I am standing. It reminds me of Seymour's sphere, when he was showing Yuna what Zanarkand looked like. Majestic planets soar above my head. For a moment, I look at the sky above me in interest.

Then, I manage to look down at myself. I'm…just the same. I should have known. My right eye is still closed.

"Of course you can see. You just weren't trying the first time." It is the boy-fayth again. I turn to face him, expecting to see a little boy standing in front of me. Imagine my surprise when I find, not a little boy in purple, but the lordly black dragon himself, arrayed in all his tacky plumage.

This _is_ Bahamut, and he really is enormous. I seem to have forgotten.

"Yes, it's me, Bahamut," said the dragon, and it's very queer to hear a little-boy voice coming from a huge scaly beast. Even Tidus' voice wasn't that high. And apparently I've lost all sense of fear in the Farplane because right now I seemed to be inclined to insult one of Yuna's most powerful aeons.

"However, I'm not the Bahamut you really knew."

_What_?

"I'm the _real_ Bahamut, Sir Auron. This isn't any of Yevon's _ieyui nobumeno_ crap here. I'm not some little boy's dream. I'm the real thing. The one, the only, the _bona fide_ King of Dragons. Capeesh?"

The boyish voice fits his boasting very well, I think.

"Bahamut, I think the song goes _ieyui nobomenu_, not _nobumeno_," the female voice that I had recently heard, speaks up. I try to catch a glance of who owns that voice, and I don't have to look very far; atop Bahamut's ridged back is a female with a long, thick braid of bluish hair falling down her back, and she has silvery skin. She is unmistakable, as well.

"Shiva," I say aloud.

"Yes, that's me, Sir Auron." Shiva hops off Bahamut's back and walked towards me. She was actually fairly decent, with her cloak around her, and not in the two-thirds-naked costume that she had worn when she had served Yuna. "And I'm the _real_ Shiva. Trust me, despite what the fayth wanted you to think—I don't give people free peep shows. That's just disgusting."

"Hmph," is all I can say to that.

"Sir Auron, you probably can see that you aren't on the Farplane anymore," Shiva continued. "We brought you to…ah, how should I say this…"

"It's a different plane of existence that only aeons usually inhabit," Bahamut put in smoothly.

I stare at the dragon, who begins preening his gaudy wings. "And why am I here?"

"We invited you. Or rather, we _wanted_ you to come," Shiva answers. "Bahamut sensed that you weren't very happy in your eternal rest, so we decided to have some fun."

Fun? _What_ fun? "What do you mean by that?" I snap at her. Disrespecting two aeons in five minutes: that must be a record.

"You are not happy with the Farplane," an older male voice joins in the conversation. I look around, and approaching me is the familiar fire demon, Ifrit. "Is that true?"

Before I can answer, Shiva rudely interrupts me. "Yes, yes, he said he wanted his money back," she says, and giggles rather girlishly. Impertinence.

Ifrit nods sagely. He seems to be the sanest out of this trio. "If he wants a refund, he'll have to take Hades up on that. But in any case—now, Sir Auron, you are not happy with your current existence. As for the cause …it appears to us that you have deprived yourself of ten years."

"What?" I ask, and I am admittedly bewildered.

"Ten years—you could've rested on the Farplane for ten years longer than you have, and gotten used to it instead of griping—_or_, you could've left Queen Bitch alone and live for God knows how much longer," Bahamut sneered.

I have never seen such childish aeons in my life. Not that that means much, anyway. "I had promises to keep," I snap.

"Trying to kill the former Miss Zanarkand wasn't part of the promise, was it?" the dragon snaps back. "Thought so. You _totally_ deprived yourself."

Shiva leans toward me. "Yunalesca was Miss Zanarkand for two years running," she explains, and then snickers.

"Anyway," Ifrit continues calmly, as Bahamut cackles loudly at me, "although you became an Unsent, the promises you made to your friends gave you your life back, or as much as an Unsent can have."

I am not following this… "I got my life back?"

"Because," Shiva adds, "you made the promise out of love. That love kept you grounded. It kept you…alive, sort of. Though you were technically Unsent, you were as alive as anyone could be. Do you get it?"

No, I do not get it. "No."

"Most Unsent do not have feeling. We saw you bleeding, we saw you feel pain." Ifrit bows his furry, flaming head. "Most Unsent do not feel pain, just weariness. If they bleed, they bleed pyreflies. You did not. You bled blood."

"The only one who's held out as well as you did has got to be that old geezer Maechen," Bahamut puts in. "And he's just come into the Farplane."

I blink. This is news to me. The hunched scholar all dressed in green—he has also gone to his rest now? I wonder to myself how that might have come about.

"Returning to the topic at hand," Shiva says, tossing her hair, "What we're saying is, Sir Auron, you weren't really dead at all. We think that's why you're still not able to rest properly on the Farplane, and why you're always so cranky instead of just letting it go, like everyone else. You still have a really strong connection to the living."

"Yeah, you're considered a real party-pooper down there," Bahamut chuckles. "Everyone else is just '_peace out, we're dead and we don't have to worry about living anymore_.' Even by that creepy pedophile half-Guado…Seymour, was it? Yeah…even he's _totally_ 'peace out.' _You_, on the other hand, well…"

I grit my teeth. I have died and gone to the Farplane, only to discover that the so-called King of Dragons is really a disrespectful little boy. The universe should take note.

"Something is keeping your mind attached to Spira," Ifrit says. "It cannot be your promises to Braska and Jecht. Those you have fulfilled."

"I know jolly well what it is," Shiva says cheerfully. I do not like the tone of voice she is using. Surely she isn't insinuating…

_Swirling pupils in a green iris._

_As I thought._

"As I thought," Ifrit murmurs, and I hear him smiling, although his face structure does not give him the ability to smile properly. "It is the little _bnehlacc_."

_Bnehlacc_. Princess, in Al Bhed. She always did like calling herself that. Even though Cid is not a king.

"Awww," Shiva coos. "That's soooo sweet."

And now I am to be humiliated. Again.

"Ewww," Bahamut snorts, and smoke drifts out of his nostrils. "That's _gross_."

Shiva turns on Bahamut in irritation. "What do _you_ know, stupid? _I_ think it's cute!" She stomps a silvery foot on one of Bahamut's feet. "So shut it!" Bahamut whines loudly.

"But he's so _old_."

"I said, shut it, you lousy dragon!" Shiva shrieks, getting ready to punch him.

"Stop it!" Ifrit booms, banging one of his massive fists on the nonexistent ground. Shiva and Bahamut stop their squabbling and glare at him. Ifrit clears his throat. "Sir Auron, I apologize."

"So it's _true_?" Shiva presses, coming over to me and scrutinizing me closely.

I refuse to answer her. If it is true…what of it? What can I do about it now? I chose to give her up the moment I realized that I wanted her the most. I can't have loved her. I shouldn't have.

"Oh, you _did_," Shiva says, and she looks pleased with herself. "You tricked yourself into thinking you didn't love her, but it wouldn't go away. She's alive, and you aren't, and your spirit wants to be alive again so that you can see her again. Ooh, that's _so_ cute!" Shiva lets out a melting sigh and pinches her face in a saccharinely cute grin.

"In other words, that's why you are unhappy in the Farplane. You shouldn't be feeling anything at all, just 'peace out'. But you can't, and you won't," Bahamut adds smugly.

This has gone far enough. "Stop it!" I shout, furious at them for taking my best-kept secret and making jibes about it in my face. "I did what I had to do! I couldn't let it distract me! I was old, and tired, and _dead_. She didn't deserve me," I end up muttering.

Thankfully, that shuts Shiva and Bahamut up. Ifrit takes up the conversation.

"Sir Auron, I will ask you one question, and only one. You only need to answer 'yes', or 'no', but we would like it if you answered truthfully."

I think I can guess what that question is going to be.

"Do you love her?"

The one question that I cannot answer truthfully.

The three aeons stare at me expectantly. "Take your time, Sir Auron, we have all the time in the world," Bahamut supplies helpfully, and Shiva nods.

Do I love her? I cannot say yes, but I will not say no. They won't accept a 'perhaps', I can tell.

Shiva takes out a pack of cards. "Anyone for Go Fish?" she asks. "This is going to be a while."

Bahamut growls low in his throat, and moves over so that Shiva can deal the cards between them. Ifrit refuses to play, instead choosing to sit down and stare at me.

I stare at them in disbelief. They are willing to wait around for my answer? Aeons are certainly odd creatures. Especially these three, who consider themselves the 'real' aeons and outside of anything related to the fayth.

"Got any fives?" Shiva chirps.

"Go fish," Bahamut replies.

I sigh. For a while this goes on; the sound of cards slapping the nonexistent ground, and Shiva and Bahamut quizzing each other about what cards they have, and Ifrit looking sternly at me. They actually _do_ have all the time in the world.

And I find that, to my dismay, I am beginning to question myself.

Now I swore that I would never, ever let anyone know of my attraction to the young Al Bhed girl. No one would have ever guessed that she would have caught me, anyway. I like things to be muted and quiet. She absolutely refused to do that; she wore bright colors (she _must_ have known that the color orange makes my eye hurt, and worn it to spite me) and spent most of her voice screaming at the top of her lungs. She frayed my nerves; she was an annoying, greedy, cowardly thief. That was my impression of her for a long time.

But in battle, those things never really mattered any more. She proved herself versatile, even strong. Stronger than the rest of us, sometimes: there would be a monster that couldn't be hurt by a sword, and yet it would easily succumb to her grenades. She refused to be left behind, despite being a shrieking coward, despite being an object of Yevonite persecution, despite having her Home blasted to smithereens. She was intensely loyal to Yuna although she obviously didn't like what was going on. Her reasons for joining the pilgrimage were, in some ways, purer than mine.

As in much of life, the worst brought out the best in her, and I simply had to be fool enough—and alive enough—to notice.

I think it was somewhere between the Al Bhed Home burning to the ground and the foot of Gagazet that I began dreaming about her. And I was—I still am—horrified at myself. She was so _young_, too young to be subjected to an old man's dreams of romance. If it could be called romance. Despite her petulant nicknames of "meanie" and "old crab" for me, I could tell that she liked me anyway, and wanted to impress me, and that, to my shock, made me happier than I want to admit right now.

I wanted her to notice me. I wanted her to look at me more often. Many times I would go into a shop and watch her eagerly looking at things that cost more Gil than we had, and then watch her groan about how I would never let her spend the Gil on such and such a thing that she wanted. And then I would be tempted to buy the things once she had left, and surprise her later on, just to see her smile brightly at me.

But if I did that, she would begin to suspect. I could not afford any suspicion. I wanted it to stay a secret. I was dead, after all, and she was alive. The dead shouldn't disturb the living. I broke that rule, and I had to pay for it.

But I still wanted her to notice me. I still dreamed up ways to make her smile, and then refuse to carry them out for fear of discovery. I still grit my teeth when she flirted with Tidus. I still wondered if she would cry when I was gone.

I wonder a lot of things about her.

I wonder if she remembers me.

I wonder if she would returned my love the way I wanted her to.

Wait…did I just say that?

Did I just say I _love_ her?

I look back at the aeons. Shiva and Bahamut, from the sound of it, have given up on Go Fish and are now playing gin rummy, or something. Ifrit is still looking at me, and in his eyes is the question he asked me, _Do you love her?_

"Yes," is the answer I find myself giving to him.

Yes.

I wanted her to notice me. I wanted her to be happy _for_ me, and _because_ of me. But I was _selfish_ (says my blasted, _traitorous_, second-guessing brain)! I _could_ have bought her something that she wanted. Just a little thing; she wouldn't have immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was out to ravish her!

I could have loved her better than I did, and I wouldn't be regretting it, and wasting my well-deserved rest on the Farplane.

Bahamut and Shiva are looking incredulously at me. Shiva drops the cards. "Did you hear that?" she squeaked.

"He said yes!" Bahamut yells, throwing his cards down. "Woo-hoo!" he shouts, and he and Shiva begin a celebratory dance. They look ridiculous, a black dragon and a silver lady prancing around a pile of playing cards. Just what are they so happy about?

Ifrit rumbles, "Your response, Sir Auron, is much welcomed." He grins toothily at me, and it is like seeing Kimahri trying to smile, only much worse.

"You know what this means, don't you, Sir Auron?" Shiva sings out to me, even as she links arms with Bahamut and twirls around in a ludicrous happy dance.

No, of course I don't. That's why I'm wondering!

"We are going to take your connection to the living world—which is as strong as it was when you left it, unfortunately for the Farplane—and use it to return you to Spira," Ifrit explains. "But since you were Sent, you will not return as an Unsent."

"That means you're going to get a _second chance_! A second chance at life!" Bahamut crows, nodding his scaly head at me. "You can't rest, so we aren't going to force you to. So live it up! Ha, ha! Get it? _Live_ it up!"

"And the best part about it is, we're going to go _with_ you," Shiva adds slyly, hopping over to poke her perfectly manicured finger in my face. "That's what we meant when we said we were going to have a little _fun_."

I shake my head. This is _not_ happening. Normally, being given a second chance at life is supposed to be a good thing, right? But not when you have three pushy aeons telling you that they are coming with you, and two of them dancing around in jubilation at the fact.

No, this is not good news at all. "What are you going to do?" I ask warily.

"Well…there _is_ a catch." Shiva frowns. "You can't return to Spira as…well, you can't be _yourself_. If you did, that means we would have to make exceptions for every dead person in the Farplane, and Hades will have a cow. No, we only want to make an exception for you, so we engineered it this way. So, sorry to say, Sir Auron, but once you're back in the land of the living, you'll be someone else entirely…sort of."

"But don't you worry, your new body will be much improved," Bahamut says proudly, "if I do say so myself. I had a hand in making it."

"And we'll be going with you, to ease the transition," Shiva puts in, nodding away at me like a bobble-head souvenir that Tidus had kept on his shelf. "It'll be fun for us, and you'll get a second chance to get the girl." Shiva seems awfully pleased with herself.

Ifrit merely looks at me and shakes his furry head. I firmly believe Ifrit is the only sane one in this trio of aeons, I really do. Then he stands up to his full height, and asks me, "Are you ready to return, Sir Auron?"

Am I ready to return to Spira? I don't think so. I don't like that mischievous look in Bahamut's eye, or that smug smile on Shiva's face.

But then I look back at Ifrit, and once again I see the question in his eyes.

_Do you love her?_

And what else can I say but, "Yes."?

"Very well," Ifrit rumbles. Bahamut draws himself up to his full height, and Shiva takes my hand. I repress a shiver—her hand is as cold as ice.

"Let's go!" Bahamut whoops. "Yee-haw! Next stop…_Spira_!"

A wild wind picks up around us, and I find myself clinging to Shiva's chilly hand as a cloud of pyreflies, carried by the sudden windstorm, surround us with light and sounds and colors…

--

I find myself standing on a dimly lit, circular platform with the circumference of a blitzball sphere pool. Blinking multi-colored spotlights are practically the only light here. The stands—why are there stands here?—are filled with wildly screaming people, mostly female.

Where am I?

"You're on stage!" a familiar female voice calls out to me. I turn around to look at her. It is Shiva, but…it isn't. Her skin isn't silver anymore, but there is not enough light to discern what color her skin actually is now. And…she's standing behind a _keyboard_? Behind her is a hulking man sitting at what appears to be a drum set. He looks at me briefly, and I know by the eyes, the gaze, that _somehow_, he is…Ifrit.

Next to me is a young man, with black hair falling over his face in a rakishly foppish manner, dressed in what appears to be black snakeskin. There is a microphone standing in front of him. He winks at me and…is that a machina guitar in his hands!

This is not good.

I turn my head to look in front of me. A microphone is standing there, in front of my face.

This is NOT GOOD AT ALL.

Before I can do anything, the young man, whom I assume by his presumptuous manner must be Bahamut, speaks into his microphone. "Good morning, Luca!" he says, and the mostly female audience screams.

Luca. We are in the Blitzball stadium. Could things get any worse?

"We're all so glad that you all came here to listen to us. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you guys." Bahamut seems to be enjoying the adulation he is getting. So does Shiva, who is grinning from ear to ear in a most cattish fashion.

"So, we're going to start off with one of our favorite songs. Just for you guys. Are you guys ready?" he cries out, and the crowd shrieks back. I think I see someone fainting in the third row.

Bahamut then sidles over to me, and then whispers into my ear, out of range of my microphone. "Just grab the mike once the music starts. You'll know what to do." And then he goes back to his own microphone.

As Ifrit begins banging on the drums behind me, and Shiva and Bahamut begin pounding out chords, I begin to feel something...that I have never, ever felt before in my entire life. The feeling...it's swimming through my limbs and crawling beneath my skin.

Stage fright.

With nothing else to cling to, I grab the microphone and pull it to my mouth. The music seems to rear like a pouncing coeurl, and then—

To my amazement, I start _singing_. Singing like I've never sung before. (I never truly sang before, except for a dozen choruses of the Hymn of the Fayth, and that was a long time ago.)

Someone… find a machina pistol and shoot me now, please.

-

FIN part 1

-

And now…presenting our Special Feature: **The Aeons Have Their Say!**

_(We are in that Special Plane, the plane of existence which only the aeons usually inhabit, and which the reader should have seen in the story. Valefor enters the scene.)_

**Valefor**: We're supposed to be telling you the moral of this chapter, and explaining stuff, but right now, most of us are really jealous of Shiva, Bahamut, and Ifrit because _they_ get to be a part of the story and we don't. According to the author, she chose those three because they are well-known and popular characters. She adds that if we have any complaints, we should go complain to Tetsuya Nomura and Yoshitaka Amano for not designing us early enough.

_(The Magus Sisters appear.)_

**Mindy**: That's a lie. We were in Final Fantasy IV. So we're soooo much older than you and Anima and Ixion.

**Valefor**: (looks at paper which someone off-screen has handed her) According to the author's research, Shiva and Ifrit first appeared in Final Fantasy III, and Bahamut appeared in the very first one. They beat all of us out. Sorry, girls.

_(The Magus Sisters groan.)_

**Sandy**: I was hoping Yojimbo would go so we won't keep tripping over his _Blitzball Illustrated_ magazines. There's got to be a reason why they're all swimsuit editions.

_(The Magus Sisters leave.)_

**Valefor**: Ahem. Anyway, the moral of this chapter is: "There is more to Sir Auron than meets the eye," or something like that. I don't know, Yojimbo's dog ate the script—and also my tuna fish sandwich, damn him. Keep in mind that we are not dreams of the fayth—we're REAL, bona fide summons—or else we wouldn't be here taking to you. Hopefully the author will explain that further as the story goes on. There is, after all, more to us aeons than meets the eye. I think that should be the real moral of the story. Until then, we'll see you next chapter.

--End, for now.


	2. Just Another Pop Star

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X, X-2, and all related nouns and pronouns appear courtesy of Square-Enix.

This chapter contains the song "Memory", by Sugarcult. Credit goes to where it is due.

-

The Most Excellent Way

by Kairos27

-

**2. Just Another Pop Star**

I, Auron, the Legendary Guardian, loyal protector of the High Summoners Braska and Yuna, wielder of the mighty Masamune, a legend comparable to Lord Ohalland in the eyes of many Spirans—am currently singing my lungs out to a fast-paced, too-noisy song while a mostly-female crowd screams in delight in the foreground.

Just the sort of song that _she_ would listen to.

_This may never start_

_We could fall apart_

_And I'd be your memory_

I don't even know this song, and yet I am singing it as if I have known it all my life. This is very odd. But then, three aeons, presumably in human form, are playing the instruments that are accompanying me. Obviously they've got something to do with that.

I am wondering if Bahamut and Shiva chose this song; they're unquestionably juvenile enough to enjoy this sort of music. _I_ am certainly singing it against my will. I don't like it at _all_.

_Lost your sense of fear_

_Feelings insincere_

_Can I be your memory?_

This song doesn't make any sense. Are all popular songs like this?

_So get back, back, back to where we lasted_

_Just like I imagine_

_I could never feel this way_

_So get back, back, back to the disaster_

_My heart's beating faster_

_Holding on to feel the same_

Hmph. I do not want to admit this, but…I think my voice sounds better than it has been for the last decade. Back when I was younger I could keep a decent tune, but as I grew older…and then died…I did not have much occasion to sing anymore.

But now it seems that Yuna's Eternal Calm has ushered in a new generation of (bad) music, as well as a new way of life. Before Yuna's time, the girls that I see shrieking like excited banshees in the stands would be at home, living in constant fear that Sin would come if they ever left. As if their homes were any safer from Jecht when they were inside them. Hmph.

_This may never start_

_I'll tear us apart_

_Can I be your enemy?_

If it weren't for some sort of mysterious magic that keeps me singing—it's like being _possessed_, I cannot stop myself—I would be running off the stage, right about now. In an inconspicuous way, of course.

This is _all_ Shiva's fault. And Bahamut's. I can see that Bahamut singing an accompaniment to my part, out of the corner of my—my _right_ eye!

I can see out of my right eye again! But that's hardly retribution enough for making me come up on stage and sing a pop song.

_Losing half a year_

_Waiting for you here_

_I'd be your anything_

As my mind makes plans to reprimand Shiva for her insolence after this _nightmare_ is over (I have given up respecting Shiva and Bahamut, and Ifrit's credibility has been greatly damaged by his playing along with them!), my thoughts, for some reason, drift over to the temple in Macalania, where Shiva—or rather, the fayth who dreamed up a carbon copy of her, as Bahamut claims—ruled. Macalania was a magic place, I knew. And of _course_ I knew what happened at the lake. We all did. Wouldn't you know it, if you saw Tidus and Yuna coming out of the vicinity, dripping wet and grinning like idiots at each other?

I wondered idly, back then, if Jecht and Braska were planning on becoming future fathers-in-law to each other's children.

_So get back, back, back to where we lasted_

_Just like I imagine_

_I could never feel this way_

Yuna and Tidus were fools indeed, but they did not seem to care, as long as they could be two fools together.

Lucky children.

_So get back, back, back to the disaster_

_My heart's beating faster_

_Holding on to feel the same_

(I wonder where Tidus is right now. Bahamut never said anything about that, but I cannot expect him to know; he's not his fayth.)

I stop singing. There is a long musical interlude. Bahamut, Ifrit, and Shiva seem to be enjoying themselves, judging by the way they're pounding into their instruments. But _I_ am not. Let's hope that this song is over…

_This may never start_

_T__earing out my heart_

_I'd be your memory_

Bother. I started singing again. When is this song going to end?

_Lost your sense of fear_

_Feelings disappear_

_Can I be your memory?_

The music stops suddenly. Finally! The song is—

_So get back, back, back to where we lasted_

_Just like I imagine_

_I could never feel this way_

—not over. I'm going to _kill_ them.

_So get back, back, back to the disaster_

_My heart's beating faster_

_Holding on to feel the same_

…blah, blah, blah. Holding on to feel the same about _what_? This song is obviously about someone who is regretting a past relationship, regretting lost chances, but…

I freeze.

Auron, you are such an idiot. Or as _she_ would say, _cdibet-rayt_.

Bahamut and Shiva made me sing this trash because they're trying to _send a message_. To me? Or are they trying to help _me_ send a message…to _her_?

_This may never start_

_We could fall apart _

_And I'd be your memory_

We are in the Luca blitzball stadium. Surely, judging by the size of the crowd, this could rival any championship game in attendance.

And championship games are always played on sphere-screens all across Spira.

_Lost your sense of fear_

_Feelings insincere_

Perhaps…perhaps _she's_ watching.

And that frightens me.

_Can I be your memory?_

Once I sing that line…I know the song is drawing to a close. The machina guitar stops whining, and all the lights in the stadium turn on, flooding the stage with light. I wince. The crowd has gone _completely_ insane with screaming and applause; a few more teenagers faint in the stands. I can see some of the fans holding up several banners, up somewhere in the back, which read I LUV U, and I'M UR GURL, and MARRY ME.

Such atrocious spelling.

The constant screech of adoring female voices at their highest register, _and_ the sudden bright light, _and_ the fact that I was _dead_ only five minutes ago, is giving me a terrible migraine and making me sick to my stomach—reminding me of just how much I hate fame.

I was famous once before, but never like this. Back then my fame was of the "worship-from-afar" type. That, I could handle. But not this. I can't handle this.

And my "much improved" body (as according to Bahamut) agrees with me.

I am distinctly aware of the crowd's adoration turning into cries of horror as I feel my knees buckling under me. The bright light forces my eyes close and my conscious functions to shut off.

I think I'm dying again. No need for the machina pistols.

--

"…Got any aces?"

"Go fish."

"Aw, man…hey look, he's awake!"

I find myself lying down on something like a couch, if the backrest that is pressed against my side is any indication. I feel myself breathing, my chest rising and falling.

I am not dead again.

Groaning softly, I struggle to open my eyes. The first thing I see is a swarthy, bulky man with a great deal of red hair standing over me, looking at me sympathetically. Ifrit.

"How do you feel?" he murmurs. "That was quite a dramatic fall you took."

"I…fell?"

"You sure did," Bahamut pipes up, and I note that his voice is deeper than the little-boy voice that he started out with, but then, he's in the body of an older teenager. A very handsome boy, but there is an insolent air about him that irks me deeply. He also does not have a shirt on at the moment, instead choosing to flaunt a large tattoo of a black dragon—himself—on his chest. "You fainted. The girls loved it. Ate it up. Well, in a manner of speaking."

"More like they collapsed in droves and sobbed that the man of their dreams was dying when we were trying to get him off stage," Shiva notes dryly. She hasn't much changed, being that she was basically human in form from the beginning, but her skin is now a light coffee color and her hair is black. She is still dressed in the blue cloak.

"So…" I wince. "Everyone saw."

"Yes. And even if they didn't, your spectacular collapse going to be on 'Entertainment Spira' on Sphere TV tonight, as well as in the gossip rags." Shiva gives me a pitying look as she shoulders Ifrit over, in order to remove a damp cloth from my head, which I didn't notice was there before. "Luckily, we managed to get you out of there before they got _too_ much footage. Not that that's much of a consolation, I know."

Once she moves aside, I sit up, swinging my legs off the side of the couch. My head throbs vaguely. "Where are we?"

Bahamut grins widely as he motions around him. "Our new digs in Luca. Check it out. We have a balcony overlooking the city!"

I look around myself, and I admit I am quite impressed. The apartments are furnished lavishly, with all sorts of machina gadgets nestled among sleek, expensive-looking furniture. There is a wide-screen sphere screen (I think), as well as a rack full of music and video spheres. Plastered all over the wall are posters of Blitzball teams, and there is even a personalized framed picture of Yuna making a speech in the very same blitzball stadium I had fainted in; Yuna herself had signed it.

"How did you accomplish all of this?" I ask them, and my irritation begins to get the better of me. "And pray tell…_why_ am I a pop singer?" I snap.

Bahamut shrugs. "It was either a pop star, or a clown in the Calm Lands circus; _complete_ with polka-dot tights and a red rubber nose. Would you have preferred _that_?"

Well…

"We had to find a new body for you, so we did," Shiva says. "Then, we just…sort of…ripped a hole in the space-time continuum and filled it back in with you. And us." She giggles. "I've never had so much fun in my entire life…and that's saying a lot, you know."

"Hmph," is all I say.

"We told the people that your…incident was just a case of dehydration," Ifrit puts in. "We checked your vital signs and you appear to be fine. You are alive."

I do not answer him. Instead, I stand up, glance around me, and—freeze. There is a stranger looking at me from the glass-paned patio door that leads to the balcony.

It's my reflection…only it isn't mine. My eyes are the same light brown eyes that they always were…but now they are peering out from a stranger's face. This strange body is just about as tall as what my height used to be, and about the same build, but my hair—thankfully the same color—looks like a chocobo's crest on a windy day. One thing is certain—that little ponytail I had back in the day is gone, with good riddance. I don't have as many wrinkles (I somewhat miss them). All in all, I look younger…but that is not always a good thing. At least my wrinkles made me look dignified.

So this is the "improved" body Bahamut chose to give me.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Bahamut remarks, drawing my attention away from my new appearance. "Obviously, you can't call us by our aeon names, or people will think you're blaspheming or something."

Shiva points behind me to a poster that I hadn't seen yet. It is a promotional poster for a concert starring…us. I am depicted there (or my new body is), along with my three companions. Our "names" are written under our respective images: under Bahamut, Shiva, and Ifrit read BENNY, SHANKARA, and EPHRAM, respectively. Under my own picture reads NORUA.

What kind of name is _that_?

"It is your name spelled backwards, pronounced 'NOR-wa'," Ifrit, or Ephram, informs me. "In the grand scheme of things, that is not very creative, eh?"

No, it isn't. "Anyone with _half _a brain could see right through it," I growl.

"Nooo," Shiva snickers, "not if they don't know who you are. Trust me—we're _aeons_. We're professionals. Spirans aren't exactly known for their smarts. Now look at the poster again."

I look. Above our picture are the words in bold print: PROJECT AEON. "That's our band name," Shiva explains.

"According to the magazines, we're the _hottest_ new singing sensation this side of Bevelle," Bahamut adds smugly.

"_What_ magazines?" Now, unlike most Spirans, I knew what magazines were, because I had read them in Tidus' Zanarkand. But there weren't any magazines the last time I was in Spira. How much time has passed since then, anyway?

"Why, the _Spira News Weekly_, of course," Ifrit says, "and _The Spiran_. There are stacks of issues in your room. I read some of them while you were unconscious."

"Wait, wait," I interrupt him. "There weren't any magazines back when I was still here. Why are there magazines now? How much time has passed since…since I left?"

Shiva and Bahamut trade meaningful glances. Ifrit merely shrugs his massive shoulders. "It has been…a little over two years since you left. You, of course, know that Yuna had almost single-handedly discredited the Yevon church. This resulted in a lot of unheard-of freedom for the news media, which had been, up till then, largely nonexistent outside of blitzball game coverage, and heavily censored by the church. Now, with the church mostly dismantled, except for a faction stationed in Bevelle, the media has undergone an explosion of material. Luca now has a broadcasting station. And technology has flourished."

I nod slowly. So this is what Yuna's Eternal Calm accomplished. Not only peace from bloodthirsty Sin, but also freedom of the press and technological advancements. Two years have gone by. Two years of calm, and the people knowing that Sin will never, ever return. For a moment, I feel some emotion pooling in my throat; I _am_ proud of little Yuna.

"Unfortunately," Bahamut adds, breaking the mood, "there's also been a bit of political turmoil. But it's all resolved, for now," he finishes gaily. "Now! Time for some more fun! What do you guys want to do?"

Shiva jumps up. "Let's go check out Luca!" she suggests. "We've never been here before."

"_I_ think," Ifrit says, glaring at them, "that if you two want to go, then go. But Sir Auron should stay here. The crowds will gather, and for now he should not have to handle that."

If I were anyone other than myself—oh, wait a minute, I _am_—I probably would have kissed Ifrit for being so sensible. But, new body or not, I am not going to do any such thing.

"Suit yourself," Bahamut sniffs. "I'm game, Shiva…let's go!"

"'Shankara'," Shiva corrects. "We've got to practice our secret identities. Come on, 'Benny'."

The two of them leave, much to my relief, chattering like excited squirrels. (Bahamut neglected to put a shirt on.) Once they are gone, Ifrit turns back to me. "Perhaps you should go to your room and have a real lie-down. Everything else can wait until later," he suggests. "Your room is down that hall…" pointing behind me, "the first door to your left."

I nod at Ifrit gratefully. At least he has sense. I would probably have to kill myself again if I were alone with Shiva and Bahamut. Which would be unfortunate, especially since they gave me a second chance—a second chance that, right now, I'm not sure I truly want.

--

My room is organized, if cluttered—mostly with stacks of _Spira News Weekly_ magazines. Apparently, _The Spiran_ is a monthly magazine, judging by the dates on the cover and the fact that I have less of them. There is nothing on the walls, although there is a desk and a chair and a closet.

Instead of lying down, as Ifrit suggested, I find myself sifting through the magazines. There's a 'Person of the Year' issue for _The Spiran_—it's Yuna on the cover, naturally. I flip through the issue: it contains mostly (shallow) biographical information, and long, tedious commentaries on everything from her Al Bhed heritage to her opinions on the environment.

Near the middle is a spread devoted to her Guardians. Including _me_. The writer describes me in a long blurb under my picture:

_Sir Auron, the most famous of Lady Yuna's guardians, is the legendary warrior who defeated Sin twice. Once a disgraced warrior monk from the now-defunct church of Yevon in Bevelle…_

(Where did they get that information, I wonder?)

_…he became guardian to the late High Summoner Braska. After Lord Braska completed his pilgrimage, Sir Auron vanished for ten years. Some say that he died in the interim and became Unsent, but there are no sources that can confirm this._

(Well, Yuna can certainly keep a secret.)

_What Sir Auron did during those ten years is cloaked in mystery, but most people agree that during that time, he raised the orphaned son of his late companion, Sir Jecht. That son became Sir Tidus. Sir Auron himself officially joined Lady Yuna's pilgrimage in Luca. His experience was instrumental in her success. At the very end of the journey, as Lady Yuna performed the Sending for Sin's carcass, Sir Auron was also Sent to his rest—it is unknown whether he died then, or was Unsent; he vanished from Spira along with Sir Tidus, who is widely assumed to have died at the end of the pilgrimage. Such was the end of a truly great warrior._

All in all, I think, not too bad. The writer did well to abstain from excessive flattery, which I have had to deal with before.

My eyes travel downwards and fall upon _her_ profile. I am curious to see what this author has to say about her, so I decide to read it, against my better judgment:

_Lady Rikku was the last Guardian to join Lady Yuna on her pilgrimage._

(She would shout with laughter, seeing a Spiran label her so.)

_Although she is an Al Bhed, she decided to join the pilgrimage out of loyalty to Lady Yuna, who, as it turns out, is her first cousin. Although shunned by the Yevonite temples, she remained faithful to the quest._

(Not counting the times she was plotting to kidnap Yuna, I suppose.)

_Her skills as an alchemist helped bring Lady Yuna closer to victory, and in the end, her devotion to her cousin paid off._

I frown. Is that _it_? Even _Kimahri_ has a longer blurb than she does, and he never spoke half as much. Apparently, Al Bhed discrimination is still widespread, although more subdued that it used to be. I am angry at the blatant unfairness, for her sake. She guarded Yuna just as well as I did. That idiotic writer didn't see what _I_ saw—Rikku clinging to Yuna with tears streaming down her cheeks, begging her cousin not to make such a pointless sacrifice by walking in her father's footsteps. Her familial love for Yuna outdid any sort of fatherly inclination I had (there's a reason why Kimahri was the father-figure, not me).

She deserves more than what she got in the magazine. Hmph.

I take a moment to study the picture they put on top of her outrageously short blurb. It's not a recent picture—she doesn't look any different from when I last saw her. In the photo, she's still the little girl that washed up at our feet on the Moonflow, and nervously asked me if she could join us; the little girl I dreamed about (and hated myself for it) for countless nights straight on our trek to Gagazet.

But she _has_ to have changed—it's been two years after all.

Putting aside the magazine, I search through the more recent periodicals, hoping to find something else. The most recent issue of _Spiran News Weekly_ that I have is a few months old, and is hardly useful: there is a picture of three men addressing a crowd in Luca—one of them looks vaguely familiar. The headline screams, "The Not-So-Eternal Calm". Inside are articles yarning about the three men on the cover; the men are the leaders of New Yevon (the faction trying to revive a watered-down version of the Yevon church), the Youth League (which is trying to expose all of New Yevon's secrets), and the Machine Faction, which is currently on a campaign to make machina more prevalent in Spira. Yuna is barely mentioned anywhere, except for a few sentences where the main article praises her for bringing the three leaders together.

Oh well. It helps to be informed somewhat of the political situation, at least…but that's not why I came back to life, is it? I didn't come back to save Spira. Spira's already safe; Yuna saw to that. I look around and realize that, for the first time in almost thirty years, there isn't a single weapon in my room.

Come to think of it…where _is_ my Masamune, anyway?

-

FIN part 2

-

And now for our Special Feature: **The Aeons Have Their Say!**

(Once again we are in that Special Plane, the aeons' plane of existence. Today, Valefor and Anima join us.)

**Anima**: Hello! Let's get straight to the moral, shall we? Today's moral is: 'It's really easy to make Sir Auron faint, just make him do something really embarrassing'.

**Valefor**: For those of you wondering when Rikku will come into the story, she will come soon. And, for those of you frustrated at the fact that Auron only refers to his lady love as "she and "her" instead of her name R-I-K-K-U…well, you survived Final Fantasy X-2 with Yuna calling her boyfriend "him" instead of T-I-D-U-S, didn't you? I should hope so, or this story wouldn't make any sense.

(Ixion appears, chasing Cindy, who is holding a large ice cream cone, across the screen.)

**Ixion**: Come back here! Give that back! That's my deluxe triple-chocolate caramel-covered nougat fudge ice cream!

**Valefor**: I swear, Ixion eats like a horse…in any case, the author apologizes for the boring logistical-ness of this chapter, and hopes that future chapters will be more interesting. No smooching for a while, though. Sorry.

(Someone off-screen hands Anima a letter.)

**Anima**: We at **TAHTS** (**The Aeons Have Their Say**) love to receive mail. As a special addition to this segment, I shall answer one of the questions from our viewers. Here's a letter from our mailbox: "_Dear Anima: Which Summoner did you prefer, Yuna or your son?_"

(Anima throws the letter over her shoulder.)

**Anima**: What a great question, my dear fan! To be honest, you should address that question to my fayth, because she's the one who dreamed up the version of me that they summoned. My fayth was a most shameless hussy, abandoning her own son! But what's done is done. Anyway, if you ask me, _I_ prefer Yuna, who is technically my darling daughter-in-law. She is polite, brave, she bathes regularly, AND she respects her mother-in-law, namely _me_. Of course, she beat me up a little before then, but that wasn't really me, so I have no hard feelings. She's a dear, though sometimes I question her taste in men; her ex-husband was a pedophile and her current boyfriend is an airhead…

**Valefor**: Anima, _Desperate Housewives_ is on in one minute. Let's finish this.

**Anima**: Right. Thank you for joining us, dear reader; we'll see you again next chapter.

_Do YOU have a question for the aeons at **The Aeons Have Their Say**? Just leave a comment in the Story Reviews section, and send us your questions. Please make sure to say which of our aeons you want to answer the question. It's that simple!_

End, for real.


	3. A Hot Commodity

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X, X-2, and all related nouns and pronouns appear courtesy of Square-Enix.

-

The Most Excellent Way

by Kairos27

-

**3. A Hot Commodity**

A few hours later, I wake up on the floor of my new room with the (formerly) neatly stacked magazines lying all around me, from my quest to digest as much as I could about what had happened in Spira while I was gone. The Farplane, after all, is not the best place to get news. I read about New Yevon and the Youth League, about machina (or rather, as the young ones call them now, 'machines') regaining popularity, and so forth.

I also read that Yuna had, not too long ago, had sung at a concert in the Thunder Plains (Braska's daughter singing at a _concert_ in the _Thunder Plains_?), hoping to help relieve Spira's political strife. The article claimed that Yuna's singing had, _"for the first time in all of Spira's existence, calmed the constant storm that raged across the Plains, and reminded us all that if we just put our hearts into it, the real Calm can become reality."_

(I always knew that Yuna was a special girl. I didn't expect her to be _that_ special.)

What interested me most was that the Thunder Plains had been made into a good venue for the concert. Apparently the Al Bhed had worked on improving the lightning towers so that the danger of dying by lightning was substantially reduced. I was impressed.

I wonder if _she_ had a hand in that project—if she wasn't running around screaming her head off for fear of the lightning, anyway. Although, back then during Yuna's pilgrimage, I found her astraphobia irritating…now it was nothing more than a muted, almost _fond_ memory.

And then I fell asleep on the floor, only to be awakened by loud thumping noises in the front room, as well as my growling stomach. Shiva and Bahamut had returned from they day trip through Luca—and I, for the first time in a long time, was really _hungry_. (I haven't truly been hungry (for food, anyway) in…almost ten years, after I died.) Reluctantly, I decide to get up and make sure they aren't plotting anything disastrous…and get something to calm my stomach. As I rise to my feet, I notice something lying on my mostly empty desk.

My sunglasses!

Finally, _something_ has gone right for once. They're really _my_ sunglasses, the pair I bought in an optometrist's shop in Zanarkand; the one _she_, that little thief, kept trying to steal off my face. For some reason, that makes my spirits lift—but not for long.

When I walk into the kitchen, however, a very _unwelcome_ sight greets me. "Where did you get _this_?" I growl, pointing at that…that _abomination_ sitting on the kitchen table.

Shiva, who is sitting at the very same table pouring a cup of tea, merely smirks at me. "I picked it up last night when I was out on the town. I thought you might want to see it."

That "abomination", as I call it, is a celebrity 'gossip rag', in this case, the _Luca Loudmouth_. The front page of the magazine screams in big bold letters: **"AEON PROJECT'S LEAD SINGER: DYING! Doctors Say There's No Hope."**

"You have to admit, it's kind of funny," Bahamut chuckles from his position on the floor, where he is reading the comics section of a newspaper. Apparently Yuna's Eternal Calm, besides magazines and gossip rags, also spawned a daily newspaper, and cartoonists, during my absence.

"No, it _isn't_. What is so funny about a pack of lies?" I hiss back, while I rummage through the kitchen cabinets. All I find is a jar of oatmeal. I doubt that Bahamut, Shiva, and Ifrit, being aeons in human form, need to eat; so they could care less about going grocery shopping…even though they can eat and drink if they _want_ to. Example: Shiva's tea. I sigh; I never thought that grocery shopping would be first on my 'Things to Do in Spira Once I Come Back to Life' list. To make matters more complicated, I think that I am out of shape, judging by the fact that my arm muscles are no longer as hard as they used to be and my stomach is alarmingly flaccid.

Ifrit, who is examining the front page of the newspaper (Bahamut had discarded it in favor of the funnies), seems to read my mind. "There is a grocery store within walking distance of our building," he notes, without looking up from the paper.

"_And_ a _great_ Al Bhed restaurant is just one block down," Shiva says, winking at me. "We got something for you." She reaches over to the kitchen counter and hands me a white bag of…some spicy food, judging by the smell. The bag is lukewarm, and oily spots dot the bottom of the bag.

Ifrit moves over to make room for me at the table as I open the bag and look inside. Frankly, I do not know what Al Bhed cooking is like; I never thought to ask Braska. Or _her_. That alone causes a niggling shame to form in my chest, which I quickly squash. I'm just hungry, I rationalize. It's nothing. Just hungry.

Inside the bag are several pieces of flatbread as well as a container of lamb, tomatoes, and rice, heavily seasoned with onions and chili paste. Shiva pours me a cup of tea as I begin to eat. "By the way," she adds slyly, "the proprietors of the restaurant are really talkative. We got _loads_ of information from them. Want to hear it?"

I glare at her. What cheek that aeon has—who died and made her boss of everything? (Yu Yevon did, but that's beside the point!) She may not like to give free peep shows like her fayth version did, but her insolence more than makes up for it. But Shiva's remarks cause me to think…where is _she_, anyway? After all, according to my aeon companions, _she_ is the reason why they could find a loophole in order to bring me back.

"Hmph," is all I can manage around a mouthful of meat. Even if I had said "No" Shiva probably would have kept clattering along.

"Well, we—'we' being myself and Bahamut—asked the proprietors if they'd heard anything about the Al Bhed princess," Shiva continued, "and one of them, this grandma lady, said she was traveling around the world looking for sunken machina, I mean machines. _But_," she grinned widely, "according to the grandma, the little princess is currently visiting her cousin in Besaid."

I stop eating and look at her. "_She_ has a name, you know."

"Ooh, someone's got his underwear in a twist," Bahamut sneers from the floor. Shiva scowls at him and stomps on his hand. "Ow!"

"_I_ think it's romantic," Shiva snips at Bahamut, who is rolling on the floor clutching his hand. "Okay, fine, so Miss Rikku is visiting in Besaid right now."

"Blitzball season is underway," Ifrit informs me. "According to the sports news, tomorrow evening's game is the Aurochs versus the Psyches. She'll not want to miss that. Nor will her cousin, Lady Yuna—because her boyfriend is playing for the Aurochs."

"Boyfriend?" Little Yuna has a _boyfriend_? I can imagine Braska exploding through the roof at that news.

"You don't know?" Bahamut says incredulously. "Didn't I tell you?"

No, obviously not. And if so, I don't remember it.

"Here," Ifrit points to an article in the sports section. "It says: _In a drastic change from last year, the Aurochs are heavily favored in this tournament, with the return of Sir Tidus to the Besaid team_."

So. Jecht's son is back from the dead as well, or wherever he was. I am…glad. At least he is the 'boyfriend', and not some random fellow Yuna picked up in Besaid.

"And you know what that means?" Shiva snickers. "I hope you've recovered you're your initial trauma because this means…CONCERT!"

Damn. "_What_?" I growl.

Ifrit sighed. "The organizers of the event contacted Shiva and asked if we, I mean Project Aeon, would perform a pre-game concert. Shiva could not resist and said yes."

I glare at Shiva again; she looks remarkably unrepentant.

"Aw, come on," Bahamut whines, getting up off the floor. "It isn't _that_ bad. You know how many people have to _practice_ before they can sing as well as you do now? You didn't have to learn diddlysquat. We totally made it easy for you. We even brought you back from the Farplane. Can't you just do us a favor and play along?"

"Who gave you permission to bring me back anyway?" I snap back. Bahamut's eyes narrow. Looks as if I really irritated him, for once.

"I could always kick you back into the Farplane," he threatens, leering at me.

"Down, boys!" Shiva says sharply, pushing Bahamut away. "Ifrit, tell him what it's all about."

"Sir Auron, we are aeons, not fayth. A fayth is subject to a summoner. We also obey summoners, but we do not obey just _any_ summoner; we choose whom to listen to. We have _real_ authority. We are aeons: the emanations of a deity. What we choose to do, we can do," Ifrit explains. "By our nature, what we do is best for everyone concerned, unlike our fayth-selves."

"Including turning me into a…" I can't bring myself to say it.

"A _pop star_? Sure," Bahamut scowls. "Like I said…you totally didn't have to do much of anything. We did most of the work for you. You noticed that when you grabbed the mike this morning, you were on autopilot? Shiva did all that for you. I got you the body. Ifrit got you a place to live, and tons of Gil to burn. Hell, we _want_ you to get back together with your little _bnehlacc_. Come on. It isn't hard. We just want to have some fun."

"Besides, it's been more than a thousand years since we last came to Spira," Shiva says wistfully. What does that have to do with anything?

I hate to admit it, but Bahamut is correct in saying that I owe the three of them deeply. Death doesn't allow you second chances; but they _made_ it that way, just for me. That puts my public humiliation into perspective.

"So, are you going to? Pleeeeaase?" Shiva wheedles.

I sigh. If I can just remember that I _owe_ them…

"Hmph." My shoulders sag in defeat.

"Yeah!" Shiva shrieks, pumping her fist. "Okay everyone! Let's—do—our—best!" she exclaims, and prances off to her room. Bahamut mutters something under his breath and begins to pick up the papers that he spread over the floor.

"What is she going to do?" I ask.

Bahamut looks at me. "She's going to write tomorrow's song."

"She can do that?"

"Sure." The dragon-turned-teenager shrugs as he stacks the papers next to Ifrit. "Shiva is the aeon of music."

That is something I never heard of before. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Ifrit says. "It is said that music first came to Spira through a summoner who learned the art from Shiva. I must admit—" Ifrit shrugs—"that I really do not know how to play the drums, nor can Bahamut really play the guitar. It is Shiva's power acting through us that we are able to accomplish what we did this morning."

Oh. Well, that certainly explained a few things…like that ethereal, haunting music we heard when we passed through Macalania. Furthermore, this hint at the aeons' long history intrigued me. But… "That's what you consider fun?"

"Well, we had to accompany you," Bahamut said. "We didn't feel it proper to just dump you into your pop star body and leave you to figure everything out by yourself."

Ifrit nodded, and then glanced at the patio doors. Dusk is falling, but the machine-powered lights are filling the sky in place of the sinking sun. "We start out for the stadium tomorrow at the third hour after noon. Our concert is at the fifth hour."

"I think I'm going to hole up in my room," Bahamut states. "See you later." Once he is gone, Ifrit goes to the sphere screen and switches it on by pressing a button. A smiling television anchor—is that _Shelinda_?—pops up on the screen. A logo in the corner indicates that this is the Luca Channel's six o'clock news report.

_"…in Kilika today, Mevyn Nooj, leader of the Youth League announced that he would dissolve his own organization."_

The screen cuts to a moving image of a longhaired man with glasses, a man I recognized from the magazines as Mevyn Nooj. Nooj was saying, _"I started the Youth League for the sake of opposing New Yevon. That was wrong. For Spira's peace, the Youth League must dissolve or rearrange its priorities. We should not encourage further sectarian strife in Spira. If this strife is to continue, it will not begin with me, nor will I encourage it."_

The scene cut back to Shelinda at the anchor desk. _"The dissolution of the Youth League comes at a time when discord in the Yevonite church is growing. More on this story with Samekh at eleven."_ Then her voice perked up even more as she moved onto her next story.

_"In other news; fans of the popular music group 'Project Aeon' had a nasty shock today when the lead singer, Norua, collapsed after the first song."_

I felt the blood rushing to my face as I turned away from the screen.

Ifrit looked at me apologetically and switched the channel.

"…_and the princess rode the big red airship all the way home, where she married her soldier with the red coat, and they all lived happily-ever-after_," a syrupy sweet tone narrated an animated scene. Some children's programming, I expect.

"I apologize," Ifrit said quietly. "I forgot." He turns the television off, and heads down the hall without another word, leaving me standing alone in the front room. Having nowhere else to turn, I open the patio door and step out onto the balcony.

I am beginning to notice things that I have things that I _didn't_ have when I was dead; back when I was Unsent, my vision tended to get blurry, especially if I turned my head too quickly. My senses of taste and smell were severely weakened. My limbs also felt heavier and more sluggish. But now—now, as Ifrit said, I am _alive_. My eyesight is fine. I can _fully_ smell and taste the evening sea breeze, and my arms and legs do not feel as heavy as I remembered them. (Or maybe it is because I am not wearing my good old red cloak. Where _is_ it?)

For another thing, I can see my reflection as I glance again at the glass of the patio door, and I come to the conclusion that I don't look like myself at _all_. Other than the eye-color, and build, and hair-color, I really _am_ in a different body. (Excuse me for yarning on about it, but wouldn't _you_ if you were suddenly stuck in a body you didn't recognize?) My face is thinner and my jaw is less square. I still have stubble, but a lot _more_ than I had when I was dead. If I don't shave soon, I will have more facial hair than I ever had before. (As a monk I was required to shave, and I kept the habit.)

Turning away from my reflection, I gaze back out over the twinkling Luca skyline. Our apartment is in one of Luca's newest high-rises. Since Sin is gone, there is no need to shorten buildings for fear Sin will be attracted to them. And since machina—excuse me, _machines_—are once again widely accepted. From what I see, Luca is well on its way to becoming a second Zanarkand. The Eternal Calm has brought so many things to Spira, good and bad; I wonder if I will ever be able to discover them all.

--

It is the sun's yellow rays streaming through my window that wake me up in the morning, where I am wrapped in my blanket on the bed in my room. The magazines are still spread out over the floor—I neglected to stack them up again.

I also notice that my stomach is softer than usual. I must be out of shape, after not exercising for two years. I may not have to heft a sword anymore, but that is no excuse to be out of shape. I pull on a gray shirt and blue mesh shorts, and ease into a pair of running shoes, which I found gathering dust in my closet.

In the kitchen, Shiva is humming a tune and stirring oatmeal. "Morning," she says cheerfully. "Get yourself a bowl of this here stuff."

I squint down at the gruel that Shiva happily spoons into a bowl for me. Apparently, aeons aren't meant to be good cooks, but…one can't ruin oatmeal easily. "Bahamut bought some honey and brown sugar," Shiva adds, pointing me towards the table, which is empty.

"Where is everyone?" I ask her, as I sit down and start putting honey into my oatmeal.

"Shopping for groceries," she replied.

I scowl into my bowl. "Are you trying to push me further in debt to you?" I snip.

"So what if we are?" Shiva grinned cheekily at me. "You've obviously been holed up inside too much. That's why you're so cranky. Why don't you go take a walk?"

"Hmph."

Her grin got even wider, if that was even possible. "Or, how about this? Go down to the docks and see if Miss Rikku is arrived yet. I know you want to. Just be careful of the fans, and be back here by three in the afternoon." With that, she sashayed out of the kitchen.

--

Luca is already wide-awake, and its open-air markets are already under way.

Pushing my sunglasses further up my nose, and hoping against hope that none of the shoppers or sellers here are Project Aeon fans, I walk warily past the steadily growing crowd, bunched around stalls and tables of fresh produce and all other sorts of foodstuffs. I have to admit, it smells very appealing; the morning air mixed with the fresh scents.

For a moment, I stand there, trying to acclimate to my surroundings. The very next moment, a round, elderly woman, with white hair and a canvas shopping bag, bumps into me.

"Oh! 'Scuse me, young man," she says brightly. "Didn't mean to knock against you, there. These crowds are growin' worse ever' time. Guess that's a small price to pay, Sin's done gone. Ain't that so, young man?"

This woman doesn't recognize me, it seems. I nod politely. "Yes, ma'am."

"I think it's best if we step out of the way here, so we don't get crushed by them people." The matron takes my arm and pulls me off to the side as she chatters along. "It's only gon' git worse, since there's a blitz game today. My boys're jest crazy over it. They done become Aurochs fans after they heard one or two of 'em were Lady Yuna's guardians."

We finally stop in front of a stall selling gingerroot and other herbs. "So, young man," the matron continues in a friendly way, as she hefts her shopping bag in her arms, "you new here in Luca? Only a stranger'd be standin' there like he didn't know what-all to do."

"Well…I…not really. I haven't been here for a long time," I say to her. "Not since Sin was defeated."

"That's all right, young man," she says. "You, I can tell you're Bevelle-bred. They ain't got much reason to come here, as their crowds're bigger, and worse. You here for the game, then?"

I nod. "Mostly. And to…find some old friends."

"Well here's to hoping that you do, young man," she says, and jingles her shopping bag. "I say—what's your name?"

"Aur—" I stop myself. "Norua."

"Well, Norua, you just come with me." She is dragging me along; it's not as if I have any choice. At least she doesn't recognize the name.

We continue walking until she stops abruptly at an empty alley. "What the sam hell were you doin' in the middle of the street there?" the matron says in a scolding tone. "Any minute one of your crazy fans would've seen you, and they would've pounced on you and made the crowds worse than they a'ready are, and a little old lady like me wouldn't be able to do her shoppin'. Lucky I managed to catch you afore anyone recognized you. You're a hot commodity in these here parts."

I feel the blood rushing into my face again. So this matron did know me, and had pulled me out of the marketplace for fear that I would clog up the shopping thoroughfare with my presence.

"For one little thing, young man, I'll be lettin' you go. You better not be doin' nothing foolish like that again, you hear?"

"What might that be?" I ask.

The matron winks slyly at me and hands me a piece of paper and a pen. "For your autograph, of course. My little granddaughters, they're sure crazy about you and your singin'. You out takin' a walk, or somethin'? You better head towards the docks, or else some of your crazier fans're gon' see you, and they'll eat you up."

I wince, but I take the pen and sign "NORUA" with a flourish, and hand it to the matron, who bows to me and bustles down the way, without bothering to say good-bye; and I head down the street, towards the Luca docks.

As I creep around, trying not to be seen, excited children occasionally run about me, holding blitzballs and jabbering about how they hope to get Sir Tidus' autograph. I keep my head down, all the better to keep me from being recognized. The matron's warning really sobered me.

I hasten onwards towards the docks. The matron was right—the docks are the safest places to be from crazy fans because, in my experience, fewer crowds gather at the docks because the blitzball stadium catches their attention more often than the ships do. Already, because it is a blitz game day, people who probably wouldn't even be awake at this hour are up and about, and the city is becoming alive far too soon. I hunch my shoulders, wishing I had my old high collar, or even a hood, to hide my face in.

Luck must be with me, because no one notices me. Must be the sunglasses. But I do pass by a group of girls who are loudly exulting over the fact that Project Aeon is going to perform before the game, and are wondering if "Norrie" (is that supposed to be _me_?) is recovered enough to sing, because they can't get enough of his (my) gorgeous face. As you can imagine, I run away from these girls as quickly as I could without arousing suspicion. After an endless stretch of streets and storefronts preparing for the influx of blitzball fans, I finally reach the docks.

I peer out over the sea, and catch sight of a cherry-red airship rising out of the horizon. Unlike the huge Al Bhed airship I remember, this one is smaller, and sleeker, with two huge engines in front of the body.

The ship skims over the water for a long while, and then, with a weighty splash, the airship lands a couple of docks away from me. Cautiously, I slip behind a stack of empty cargo crates, hoping to get a better look and yet not be seen.

"Wow!" someone yells, and I recognize the voice too well. It's Jecht's son, and he is emerging from the body of the airship. They've arrived.

"Luca got…bigger!" the boy exclaims; his voice is so loud I can actually make out what he's saying. At least he's observant.

A softer, female voice answers him, but since it is soft I cannot make out what is being said. But I know the voice as well as I know Tidus'; it's Yuna. I squint over at them. The boy is still wearing that loud yellow ensemble; well, he wouldn't be Tidus without it. But it is Yuna's attire that I am having a few problems with. From what I can see, her shirt is dangerously low, and her shorts are practically nonexistent. Only a long ruffled piece of fabric, partially covering her left leg, gives any semblance of her covering _anything_ up. It is _so_ _unlike_ the Yuna that I know, that I think if Braska hadn't died fighting Sin, I am sure this sight would have killed him, or at least paralyzed him.

(You didn't think I had an opinion on clothing? Well, when _you_ walk around for more than ten years with a _red_ overcoat, you start to notice things like fashion.)

After Tidus and Yuna disembark, behind them comes Wakka (whose stomach is beginning to show), and Lulu, with a purple bundle in her arms. Is that a baby? I am very surprised; to think that they are married, and have a child.

They are all talking, and laughing, and I realize that I missed them…even though I told them, back then, that this brave new world, this Spira without Sin, was their world, and not mine. They made it theirs, and I didn't belong in it. I did miss them though…but where was _she_? Did she not come?

No sooner did I think that than a familiar figure bounced off the airship. I could feel my jaw falling open. The first thing I notice isn't the fact that her flaxen hair is more luminous than ever, or that she has gotten taller. No, the first thing that I notice is that she's practically _naked_.

I can feel anger beginning to bubble inside of me. How many people—how many lascivious young _men_, rather—have seen her like _that_? Despite the long scarf, which actually covers her front quite nicely, she's only wearing a…_bikini_. The only person that I remember wearing a bikini before her was Yunalesca, and we all know how _that_ ended.

As the party draws closer to where I'm standing, I hear their voices clearer. To my surprise, Yuna is rather…talkative. "They're performing the pre-game concert," she was saying.

"Who is?" the boy asks. He's juggling a blitzball in one hand and holding Yuna's hand in the other.

"Weren't you listening, silly? _Project Aeon_, of course!" Yuna says.

Of course, if I had been anyone else, I probably would have fallen over, and knocked down several crates. But I didn't. "I really like their music," Yuna continued, and my jaw dropped again. The Yuna I knew looked as if she'd only listen to the Hymn of the Fayth. _This_ Yuna, though…along with her wardrobe, has changed her entire outlook on things. I don't know if that is good or not.

Then, _she_ spoke up. "Their lead singer collapsed from dehydration yesterday; I hope he's all right. I think he's really cute and he has _such_ a nice voice."

Wait. Did _Rikku_ just say _that_? Suddenly, my poor heart feels like it sprouted wings and wants to jump out of my ribcage. Damn.

"I heard about that. Did you see their concert?" That was Yuna.

"Yeah! Before I came to pick you guys up, I was in Djose. Nhadala and I were watching it on her sphere screen. Nhadala's really into Project Aeon, and she was just _blubbering_ when he collapsed."

By this time, they've drawn right up near my impromptu hiding spot; and I am reeling from this new information; Yuna is a fan of Project Aeon, and Rikku…she thinks I'm _cute_ and that my voice is _nice_.

In fact, I'm reeling so much that…my stupid "improved" body, which grew more and more hot and bothered as _she_ spoke, betrays me, and my right foot trips over my left foot, and down I tumble, with a wooden thud.

As fate, or luck, or whatever, would have it, right at Rikku's feet.

She yelps and jumps backwards, jostling Tidus, who complains. "Hey!"

"Ow," is all I muster as she scrutinizes me, and I find myself looking into the familiar spiraled pupils, still swimming in the same pool of green.

_Open your eyes._

"Hey, it's you!" she exclaims shrilly. "You're Project Aeon's lead singer!"

_As I thought._

"Well, speak of the devil," Tidus remarks. I can feel him looking at me, but right now I must admit that I've only got eyes for one of them standing here.

Yuna walks forward, and bows politely. Ah, that's the Yuna I know. "Hello," she says. Then she grabs Tidus' blitzball ("Hey!") and holds it out towards me, along with a marker. "May I have your autograph?"

"You want him to sign my blitzball?"

Gingerly, I crawl to my feet, and silently take the marker, signing "NORUA". Part of me is tempted to scrawl my real name._ Auron_. But somehow…I feel that this is not the time.

"High Summoner, you are a fan of my group?" I manage to murmur as I hand the ball back to her. Then I bow to her for good measure. "That is an honor I do not deserve."

"I do like your music," Yuna says brightly. She clearly doesn't recognize me. Not a big surprise.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Rikku asks me, and my shoulders break out in gooseflesh. Why is my body reacting this way?

I'm starting to think that I'd rather have a dead body.

"Trying to hide from crazy fans," I mumble, and I finally take a good look at _her_. She's smiling at me. A smile that could conquer countless cold hearts.

The aeons only know how well she conquered mine.

-

FIN part 3

-

And now for our Special Feature: **The Aeons Have Their Say!**

(Once again we are in that Special Plane, the aeons' plane of existence. Anima is present, along with Sandy the Magus Sister.)

**Sandy**: Welcome once again! Today's moral is: 'The author can't write romance and is lazy'. At least Rikku made her entrance this chapter. I don't know how long the author could have held out.

**Anima**: For those of you wondering why the Youth League is dissolved, it is because in the "FFX-2 Last Mission thingy" that was only released in Japan, Paine says that the Youth League is dissolved. The author wants to take this 'Last Mission' into account in this story.

**Sandy**: And now, it's that time you've all been waiting for: time for us aeons to answer your questions. Our first letter comes from one of our illustrious readers…this one's yours, Anima.

**Anima**: All right! Here it is: _Anima just one little question... WHAT THE LIVING SNAP IS WITH THE PUNCHY THING THAT MAKES UP YOUR LOWER HALF!_

**Sandy**: I've often wondered, too.

**Anima**: Have you really? My dear reader, I'll tell you what's up with my lower half: I DON'T HAVE ONE. That's why Nomura decided to make something up so I'd look uglier and eviler, because I'm supposed to be Seymour's mother and you as the player are supposed to hate me until you receive me as a summon, and from then on I'm your new best friend.

**Sandy**: Okay, there's your answer. Next question…this one's for Shiva.

**Anima**: Shiva isn't here, so we might as well answer it as best we can.

**Sandy**: The reader writes: _Hey Shiva, as far as female aeons go, you don't have much competition in terms of exciting the opposite sex...with that in mind, is there any one male (human, unsent, and aeon alike) that you secretly want to throw on the ground and have your way with?_

(Anima falls over laughing)

**Sandy**: I asked my sister Mindy to sneak into Shiva's things and see if she could find anything to answer the question.

(Mindy enters)

**Mindy**: Sandy, Shiva's going to kill meeeee. If she Diamond Dusts me, you owe me biiiig.

**Sandy**: Yeah, yeah. Did you find anything?

**Mindy**: …yes. A picture of Ifrit with hearts drawn all around it.

**Anima**: Ha, ha! I always knew it was him. The way they used to bicker so, back in the old days…I knew there was some sort of sexual tension between them! You put fire and ice together, you get steam, right? A 'steamy' encounter indeed! Ha, ha, ha!

**Sandy**: That's so. Well, friends, that's all for today. We'll see you again, next chapter!

_Do YOU have a question for the aeons at **The Aeons Have Their Say**? Just leave a comment in the Story Reviews section, and send us your questions. Please make sure to say which of our aeons you want to answer the question. It's that simple!_

End, for real.


	4. Singing the Blitzball Blues

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X, X-2, and all related nouns and pronouns appear courtesy of Square-Enix.

**The Most Excellent Way**

by Kairos27

**4. Singing the Blitzball Blues**

You know how it is when people describe how it feels to be "in love", they mention such foolish symptoms such as tingles of electricity, gooseflesh, increased heartbeat, nervous stomach, sweaty palms, general feeling of lightness, and so forth. Well, let's make a checklist of the symptoms I am suffering right now. Tingles of electricity? No. Gooseflesh? Yes. Increased heartbeat? Yes. Nervous stomach? Yes. Sweaty palms? Yes. General feeling of lightness? Not really.

"Hey, are you okay?" She's talking to me again.

Don't look at her, Auron, or you just might add some more symptoms to that list of yours.

I look up, taking care not to look at _her_ directly. The boy is impatiently shifting his feet while Yuna looks at me in concern. Wakka and Lulu are standing a ways away with their baby, probably waiting for Yuna to follow.

"I'm fine," I mumble, and I begin to back away, however reluctantly. "Sorry to have disturbed you." But then, my stupid feet are so reluctant to move that instead of moving out of their way, I back up a few inches and fall on my backside.

I should add "clumsiness" to that list of symptoms.

"Ow," I say for the second time in less than five minutes. How is it that in the past, a chimera could beat me up and I never uttered a word, but now a simple fall makes me say stupid things like "Ow"?

I am going to complain to Bahamut about this so-called "improved body".

"You don't seem okay. Are you sure you're all right?" That's Yuna. She really _hasn't_ changed…much.

If Esuna could cure lovesickness, I think I would be all right. But no… "I'm really fine," I mutter.

And then I make the horrible, terrible, awful mistake of looking up. Because right there, smack dab in my line of sight, is Rikku, who is bending over and looking me in the face. I grit my teeth. She shouldn't some this close…close enough for me to smell her, sand and smoke and Besaid hibiscus shampoo. She must have used Yuna's shampoo.

I think I feel sweat lacing my brow as I clamber to my feet again. I must be blushing terribly.

"Trying to hide from your crazy fans, huh?" Rikku says brightly. Gooseflesh ripples on my arms. And—is _that _a tingle of electricity I feel in my arms somewhere?

Not again. Two years ago, I had worked so hard to distance myself from her, but now just a few seconds of physical closeness makes _mincemeat_ of my resolve.

"Yes," I say, keeping my head down, looking appropriately penitent. This time, I succeed in walking a few steps away. "Again, I'm…I am sorry to disturb you, Lady Yuna. Please, excuse me." I turn around so that I don't have to look at _her_, or any of them.

"Will we see you at the concert today?" Yuna calls out to me.

I turn my head slightly, and nod, just like in the old days. And then I run for it.

I don't care how silly I look, running for the hills, away from the docks. I have to get out of there before my "improved body" melts into a puddle of goop at her feet.

The world is a tinted blur around me as I run, and I pant, my red face turning even redder from my exertion. An irrational fear—or is it a hope? —that she's chasing after me only makes me run even faster. My flight response.

Yes, think of it! Auron, the Legendary Guardian, the warrior who never ran away in the face of Sin and death and evil…is running away from the one person he wants the most. The most beautiful person in the world.

Do I sound bitter? Because I am. I'm bitter because I didn't have the guts to even talk to her. I'm bitter because I just wasted a chance to get to know her again. I'm bitter because this has to be so damned hard.

I'm bitter because…I'm running away again. For a moment I'm tempted to turn around and run back…but I don't. I continue running away, putting more and more distance between her and me.

As if we weren't far away enough.

I stumble into our apartment, panting heavily. Sweat drips in rivulets down my cheeks as I drag myself towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. Ifrit is sitting there looking solitary, until his dark eyes turn to see me entering.

"What were you doing?" he intoned, as I groped around the cupboards for a glass. Seeing that as I had no success, he reached into another cupboard and handed me one.

"Walking," I grumbled, turning on the faucet.

"Ah." He turns back to his seat. A magazine is open before him. "I borrowed some of your reading material," he adds, as I sit down across from him.

"Hmph." I toss the water down my throat.

Ifrit overlooks my curt manners, and continues talking. "Shiva tells me that you went to see if the _bnehlacc_—I mean Miss Rikku—has arrived. Has she?"

I nod miserably, my eyes focused on the wood grains of the table. I haven't taken my sunglasses off, so I can't see too clearly, but I don't care.

"And did you exchange words?"

I nod again.

"Has she…any hint of who you are?"

I shake my head.

Ifrit strokes his chin thoughtfully. "And you do not know if she returns your affection."

I scowl into my glass of water. What is his point?

Fortunately, he does not pursue the train of thought (unlike Shiva and Bahamut, who would undoubtedly press me for more details), but instead, Ifrit turns back to his magazine. He is reading a _Spira News Weekly_ issue about the newest fad: Sphere Break, which apparently was started by Rin, the unrivaled entrepreneur. "What time is it?" I ask him.

"The tenth hour before noon," Ifrit replies.

So we have about five hours before we're to head back to the stadium for the concert. Just then, Shiva bustles in through the door, and looks terribly surprised to see me. "You're back already?" she questions. "Didn't you see her?"

"Peace, Shiva," Ifrit rumbles. "He saw her. That is enough for now."

I think Ifrit will be my favorite aeon from now on.

"Aw, poop," the female aeon whines. "I was hoping that something would happen." She brightens, though. "Oh well, you'll see them later tonight! And this time I'll be with you, so you can't mess up."

Really. "And what makes _you_ so special?"

Shiva shoves her face into mine and winks at me craftily. "Because I'm the goddess of _loooove_."

Water sprays out of my mouth. "_What_?" I almost shout.

Ifrit shakes his head. "There you go again; your mouth is running away without you, Shiva."

Shiva sniffs haughtily. "What makes you think I didn't _mean_ to say that?" she says sweetly to the fire aeon, who rolls his eyes. She then turns to me. "Don't tell me that _surprised_ you."

"Of course it surprised me!" I snap. "Why else would I spit my water all over the table?"

The female aeon threw up her hands in mock frustration. "You mean you don't _know_?"

"Shiva was worshiped as the goddess of love and music in ancient Zanarkand," Ifrit supplied helpfully. "She was highly revered even in Yu Yevon's time."

I don't understand…I mean, of course I know by now that my aeon companions are not dreams of the fayth, like they had been when Yuna called them. They are actual _creatures_; manifestations and creations of a deity lost to human knowledge. At least that is what they tell me, over and over again. But until now, they never claimed to be _gods_.

"I'm _not_ a goddess," Shiva admits. "And I was never meant to be. But you know humans, always having to _complicate_ things. Macalania just happened to be a very musical, _romantic_ place. The place _was_ part of me—figure the ice—but I didn't make it that way by myself."

Suddenly, I understand what Shiva is saying. So _that_ was why Tidus and Yuna had their little romantic interlude there, in Macalania Lake. It never would have been as beautiful, or as fitting, anywhere else. The musicians who dwelt in Macalania always played and sung ballads telling of tragic love and loss, and the icicles always echoed the songs right back, making them sound even lovelier than when they began. Even Shiva's fayth sang the Hymn more beautifully and sorrowfully than any fayth we had seen before.

But Shiva as a _goddess_? Well, she certainly had the body for it.

"I know _you_ find it hard to believe," Shiva says smugly. "But when ole Yevon made the fayth dream up aeons, they naturally dreamed of creatures they believed were _powerful_. And of course the first things they thought of were their deities. That's how _all_ of the aeons _you_ knew were dreamed up. Even Anima."

Really? I never knew that Seymour's _mother_ would know enough to dream of an ancient creature powerful enough to become Yuna's second-greatest aeon.

"Well, now that I've gone and blabbed that…your love life is in good hands." She tittered. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

Joy to the world. Nevertheless, I bite back the retorts that I planned to give her. I think I have learned by now that Shiva will have her own way no matter how much I yell.

The hours slip by quickly. Soon, it is time for us to leave for the stadium. Shiva is bossing me about what to wear. She makes me wear a black sleeveless turtleneck that clings to my body more than I would like it to. And then, she insists that I wear trousers that she calls "jeans", which she says will make my "butt look smaller". Apparently my backside is too big for her taste, but I don't care. I flatly refuse to wear the "jeans", and instead opt for trousers that strongly resemble what I used to wear, the baggy kind that one stuffs into tall combat boots, which I also decide to put on.

Bahamut comes prancing in, wearing his own pair of jeans, which make _his_ backside look smaller, and a black unbuttoned shirt, which exposes his tattooed chest. At least he isn't wearing that snakeskin. Ifrit follows, wearing a white sleeveless shirt that clings to his bulky, muscular chest in a fashion designed to drive the girls batty. Probably Shiva's fault, again.

"Let's go!" Bahamut sings out, leading the way. Outside waiting for us are two machina—I mean, machine—motorcycles waiting for us. I am surprised. The last time I saw them was in Zanarkand. Bahamut straddles one and Shiva hops on behind him. Ifrit takes the other, and motions for me to get behind him. "You know how to drive these?" I shout to him as he revs up the engine. He nods.

"We also observed Zanarkand, as you did," he replies, and off we go, following Bahamut, who seems to be a bit of a speed demon—but he and Shiva are enjoying it immensely, judging by their whooping.

As expected, the streets of Luca are teeming with people, all galvanized by the upcoming blitzball game. Even after Sin was gone, even after the game ceased to be the only escape from everyday life and the deadly fear that came with it, the game _still_ goes on.

The motorcycles take us quickly through the city despite the human traffic, and pretty soon, Bahamut leads us up to the back of the stadium. However, clusters of fans are already there shrieking their heads off, roped off from the back door entrance and partially restrained by guards in Bevelle uniform (probably demoted to crowd control after Yuna upended the church). They are holding out blitzballs and posters and things, obviously waiting for autographs.

Bahamut kills the engine of his motorcycle, and he and Shiva hop off. Ifrit does the same, and I follow him. Two of the guards, acting as valets, take our vehicles; Shiva tips them and they leave. The three of them seem completely at ease. Good for them. What about _me_?

Shiva is first, as she goes along the rope barrier, rapidly signing her alias on random items and even posing for pictures. Bahamut also. I even hear him shamelessly flirting with one girl—oh, I'm sorry, did she just faint? Too bad. One of the guards is forced to carry her inside.

Ifrit stands behind Shiva, looking more intimidating that anything else, but even so, he silently takes a few proffered posters and signs them, without any words being said. I think the fans are slightly afraid of him.

As for me, people are shouting things like "Are you feeling better? Can you perform tonight?" Et cetera. Ifrit silences some of them by saying, "Of course he's all right. He's here, isn't he?" As for the rest, he whispers to me, "Just smile and wave. Grit your teeth. Sign a few things."

The stadium is emptied of water and covered over with a retractable dome for concerts, which takes all of fifteen minutes thanks to the technological advances of the past two years. Stadium workers are setting up the instruments and sound system for us; Shiva is going around, watching them like a hawk—making sure everything is done right and in a timely fashion. As for the rest of us, we are sitting in a room not far from the locker rooms—Bahamut is humming to himself and Ifrit is sitting quietly with a giant plush Tonberry that someone gave to Shiva and that she, in turn, made him hold for her while she signed more autographs.

As for me, I am observing the flowers sitting in a vase on the nearby table. At first glance, it seemed to be a mere decoration that someone had placed in the room as an afterthought; however, as I study the flowers closer, I realize that they are actually quite fresh, trimmed and arranged with care. Clover blooms from the Calm Lands, Macalanian snowdrop lilies mingled with the eight-petal Kilika fire blossoms, presided over by a single, regal Besaid hibiscus. And, the rarest of them all, the Sanubian desert rose. It was rather scrubby compared to the roses that grew in wealthy Bevelle courtyards, but hardy and fragrant. Braska's favorite flower.

Shiva notices my sudden interest in botany when she returns. "Nice flowers, eh?" she says, winking at me. I frown, but perhaps it is her presence that causes a certain idea to form in my mind. I keep my silence and the angry scowl on my face as I reach out to pluck one of the flowers from the vase.

The stadium guard I send tells me that Yuna has accepted one of the VIP boxes in the stadium—normally she would not, being the person she is—but for Lulu's comfort, she has made an exception.

I have been in those boxes once or twice, and I remember well. I see three rows of five seats each, chairs padded, reclinable, with armrests and side tables.

On one side table will be a cluster of short-stemmed Sanubian desert roses, barely fully bloomed. They will bloom for a little while longer, clearly and neatly addressed to _dra bnehlacc uv dra Al Bhed_.

What she does with them, I cannot yet see.

FIN part 4


End file.
